


Teeth

by Andresome04



Series: Cybetronians Can't Kiss [2]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Body Modification, Body Positivity, Depression, Friendship, In the end, M/M, Promise, Relationship Goals, Self Esteem, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, Teasing, Wholesome, don't worry y'all it gets better, light banter, slight romance, there's a happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-15
Updated: 2019-11-15
Packaged: 2021-01-31 03:30:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21439513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Andresome04/pseuds/Andresome04
Summary: You should really cover those up. People get a good look at those and they’ll think you’re a Decepticon in disguise or something.
Relationships: Drift | Deadlock & Ratchet, Drift | Deadlock/Ratchet
Series: Cybetronians Can't Kiss [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1542250
Comments: 10
Kudos: 148





	Teeth

**Author's Note:**

> It came to me one day, and I was like sure why not? Don't we all love to see our favorite characters get hurt? Don't worry though, it all ends well. Promise.

The two mechs sat next to each other, buffing out their dents after a long sparring session. Their laughter echoed throughout the room as they recounted the outcome of their last scuffle.

“I could have beaten you! If only I hadn’t overstepped like that and lost my balance.” Rodimus said while pressing the buffer over a scratch on his right forearm.

Drift chuckled as he continued buffering over his left leg. “You mean tripping over your own pede while trying to catch me on my blind spot?”

“I didn’t trip I just miscalculated and fell with grace.”

“You fell flat on your face.”

Both laughed for long while after that, remembering the hilarious look of horror on Rodimus’ face before it connected with the floor. When Drift recovered, he looked to Rodimus—only to pause at the look his friend was giving him.

The orange captain stared critically at the swordsmech, particularly his intake. His optics were squinted slightly, and his own derma was pulled to a frown.

Drift tilted his head questioningly at his friend before asking, “Something wrong?”

Rodimus hummed, seemingly in thought. “Ever thought about filing those fangs down?”

Jerking back, the swordsmech quickly shut his mouth and unconsciously flicked his glossa over his teeth. He felt the sharp edges of each incisor and noted how some were longer and more jagged than others. He looked at Rodimus and realized that he repeated the same action as Drift except his jaw was open wide, allowing Drift to get a view. He was quick to note that unlike his own teeth, Rodimus’ were flat and not a single sharp edge in sight.

He wasn’t quite self-conscious, but it was close thing, especially with the way Rodimus was eying him weirdly. He couldn’t help but squirm uncomfortably at the sudden attention.

The orange speedster must have noticed his friend’s unease and was quick to add, “Not that they’re a bad thing or anything! But…you should really cover those things. People get a good look at those and they’ll think you’re a Decepticon in disguise or something.”

Drift didn’t quite know what to say to do that. He never really thought his teeth were an issue or that they would cause problems. He was still trying to assimilate into Autobot culture and trying to fit in as best as he can—even going so far as changing his frame completely. But his teeth always remained. They were convenient and he’d long grown used to them. The thought of changing them just felt…odd.

Whatever the case, he would make sure they didn’t become an issue with the rest of the crew. He nodded.

####

“Hey Drift! How’s it going? What’s new? Got a new polish? What’s up?”

The TIC made his way to the front of the bar where the grinning bartender was wiping the inside of a glass bottle with a mesh cloth.

“Hey Swerve. How are you?”

“Pretty fine! Pretty fine! Business is slow today, but you know, that’s life. I’m sure it’ll pick up in a few cycles—that’s when half the ship is off duty and what’s better than getting a few drinks after a long day’s work! You know what I’m saying? Anyways! Is there anything that I can get’cha?”

Drift listened patiently as the minibot finished his rambling spout before shaking his head at the offer. “Thanks, but I’m on troubleshooting duty myself. Just came to check if things were alright down here.”

Swerve nodded. “That’s understandable. Thanks for the check-up, though I don’t think there’s anything to check up around here except this _amazing_ joke that I just whipped out for you. And you CAN’T leave until you hear the entire thing!”

Smiling slightly at the minibot’s poor attempt at trying to share another one of his jokes under the sly, Drift humored him by agreeing.

“Alright, what do you call the garden police?”

Drift shook his head. “What?”

“Lawn and Order.”

The minibot quickly threw himself in a fit of giggles at his own terrible joke and the white speedster joined him with his own chuckles.

That is until he heard a loud whistling that broke him from his laughter.

Swerve was looking at him with a wide-eyed stare. Derma still pursed from his whistle. He was looking at Drift like he just grew another head.

He didn’t like it.

“Wow. Those are some choppers you got there.” Swerve pointed at his fangs. “Say, you ever tore someone’s head off with those?”

Drift froze. He remembered his conversation with Rodimus and immediately felt shame for forgetting. He didn’t want any unwanted attention, but his mistake left him in this situation. Mentally cursing himself, Drift quickly cooled his expression to one that was more neutral. This time, he made sure his fangs were well hidden.

“Excuse me Swerve. I must return to my rounds. Have a nice evening.”

He turned and left.

####

Later that evening, Drift returned to his quarters and stood in front of the mirror in his washracks. He looked at himself for a long while before gazing down at his intake.

He’d just returned from a conversation with Pipes and listened to the smaller mech as he spoke about finding someone special in his life and tried offering his own advice on the subject. During their conversation, however, he’d accidentally flashed some of his teeth in a brief slip of control and gave poor Pipes a good scare.

Drift never felt more terrible after an ordeal.

Looking at himself in the mirror, he grinned and was met by rows of sharp, rugged teeth. He winced. Thinking back to every single Autobot on the _Lost Light_ and every bot he’s met, Drift realized that none of them had teeth like his.

_Ever think about filing those down?_

Taking two fingers, he placed one on each corner of his intake and pulled, getting a full view of the jagged mess inside.

_People get a good look at those and they’ll think you’re a Decepticon in disguise._

These weren’t teeth an Autobot should have. No Autobot has these teeth.

_Say, you ever tore someone’s head off with those?_

He sighed. Optics dimming, he removed the fingers from his mouth and stared at his reflection. He needed to fix this. He needed to fit in, for his own sake and for everybody else.

Opening one of his drawers, Drift took out a filer and held it in one servo. He stared at it and contemplated his next move. He stared back at the mirror.

He was nervous. Why should he be? He must do what needs to be done. It’s not like it’s a serious frame change. It’s just…a cosmetic change. No harm in that, right?

So why was his hand shaking?

He placed his second servo around the first until his grip was solid. Then he looked back at the mirror and opened his jaw wide. Raising the filer, he placed it under one sharp tip on his upper jaw. He removed one hand so he could turn the filer in a way where he could see what he was doing. He dragged the surface underneath one fang.

And his sensors lit on **fire**.

“AH—!”

Jerking the tool out of his mouth, Drift put his glossa around that fang and winced as his sensors screamed like they were being placed in a smelting pit. Looking to the mirror, he saw a tiny scrape beneath that fang where the filer grazed the inside. It now sported a more crooked structure with a misshapen point, barely noticeable to the inattentive optic. He didn’t realize his teeth were that sensitive nor that they had that many sensors to begin with. Perhaps he should have read a manual when he first installed these teeth.

Placing the tool back inside its drawer, he closed his optics for a moment and hung his head.

So leveling his teeth was out of the question. Now what?

_You should cover those up._

One of these days, he’s really going to knock Rodimus a new one.

Straightening himself, Drift looked back at the mirror. He began lifting the corners of his lips in a short and _very _awkward closed smile which looked more like a grimace than anything.

He frowned. Okay, let’s try that again.

Lifting the corners again, he tried soothing out the rest of his features so that it looked more natural and less pained. Eventually, he passed for a soft simper that was more shy than coy.

It would have to do for now. His faceplates were starting to ache, and he had to find some balm for his fang. It was starting to sizzle.

####

Drift was patrolling down the hallways, one hand on the hilt of a sheathed sword while the other hung freely at his side. It had been quiet so far. Shocking since this was the _Lost Light_ and quiet didn’t exist on this ship.

Suddenly, he heard a commotion a few doors down the hall and he quickened his pace. By the time he realized the noise was coming from behind the doors of the medbay, Smokescreen burst through them like his tailpipe was on fire.

Something whisked through the air and connected with Smokescreen’s helm, emitting a loud _CLANG_ followed by a pained yelp from the running mech. Grumbling was heard from the medbay before the doors closed swiftly and cut off whatever was said afterward.

Drift watched dumbfounded for a moment before walking towards the spot where the mysterious object that hit Smokescreen lay on the floor.

It was a wrench. A very familiar one.

Huffing in amusement, he picked up the tool and made his way through the doors to return the item to its owner.

Once inside, he spotted the mech he was after with his back turned to him. Ratchet’s grumbles were more coherent now that he didn’t have the door muffling his voice.

“—Damn mechs…acting squeamish when it comes to their own health. Bah! Stupid idiots don’t even know what’s good for them.”

He couldn’t help but smile at the typical Hatchet behavior. Some things never changed.

Tapping the wrench against a nearby berth, he made sure to signal his arrival so he wouldn’t catch the medic off-guard.

Ratchet turned and Drift made sure to give the least off-putting smile he could offer and waved a hand.

“Hi.”

The ambulance stared at him for a moment, scowl written over his faceplates before he caught sight of the tool in the speedster’s hands.

“I see you found my wrench.”

Drift shrugged and his posture turned a bit sheepish.

“Yeah, and the mech it was targeted for before hightailing it like Unicron was after him.”

Ratchet scoffed.

Taking that as his window of opportunity, Drift began to move forward. “Thought I’d return this to its rightful owner.” He gestured to the tool before raising it in offering to the medic.

Ratchet eyed him for a moment and looked down at the wrench. “You know some people might call you crazy for even thinking of giving this back to me.” He looked back at the speedster with a raised brow.

Drift paused for a second before shrugging. “I see no one having better use for this than its current owner.”

Ratchet huffed in not-quite annoyance. His field was calm, and Drift could feel a slight ripple of amusement.

“Even if it could see better uses from a mechanic or engineer? Or a plumber?”

Sensing the teasing tone, Drift’s field fluttered with his own amusement and smile was tugging at his lips. Shrugging with an air of fake-nonchalance, Drift commented, “I think attacking unruly patients into submission is a suitable reason to use a wrench.”

“I know plenty of mechs would disagree. My last patient would vouch for that group.”

“Probably.” Drift’s tone turned teasing. “I’m sure Smokescreen will feel that dent for days.”

Both chuckled and at that moment, Drift felt more relaxed than he had in a long while. And it was with that train of thought that he froze, realizing his control had slipped once again and quickly shut his mouth. His optics snapped to Ratchet to see if he saw—

And his spark squeezed at the sight.

Ratchet was looking at him. Optics crinkling at the edges, lips pulled back at the corners, field quivering at the edges with mirth.

Ratchet was smiling. Smiling at **Drift**_._

The discovery floored him for a moment and then he felt the crippling anxiety withdraw from his frame. Perhaps Ratchet hadn’t seen.

But the medic did sense the shift in his field and soon gave Drift a quizzing look. “Something wrong?”

Hurrying to correct himself, the swordsmech quickly shook his head. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

The ambulance raised a brow but didn’t comment and instead reached out a hand. It took a few seconds for Drift to process, but he quickly placed the wrench in the medic’s palm.

Taking the instrument from him, Ratchet looked at it for a moment before tossing it in the air and catching it. “For what it’s worth, thanks.”

Drift nodded. “You’re welcome.”

Not wanting to overstay, he bowed slightly at the hip and bid the medic a goodbye. “Have a pleasant shift.”

When Ratchet turned to his work, Drift turned and began walking towards the doors.

“Hold on a minute.”

Spinning on his heal, his attention was immediately on Ratchet.

“Do you know the last time you had a check-up?”

There was a long pause.

“Not particularly.”

“Uhuh.”

Drift froze as he saw the ambulance slowly turn towards him with an ominous glint in his optic. “You’re long overdue.”

Uh oh.

Ratchet tapped the berth next to him. “Sit.”

Scrambling, Drift replied, “I’m currently on shift so unfortunately now is not the best ti—”

“Oh, now is the perfect time. Since you always seem to have something going on during the available appointments, I try sending you. What better opportunity than right now?”

Drift paused, quickly thinking of an excuse to escape. “As part of the command staff I—”

“As CMO I override any and all commanding authority over matters concerning a patient’s health.” Ratchet raised a brow challengingly.

Drift grimaced. He slowly started creeping towards the doors when the medic’s next words stopped him.

“Don’t make me call Magnus. I’ll even inform him of you playing hooky. You **know** how he feels about missing appointments.”

That made him wince. He looked to Ratchet and the expression on his face meant he was dead serious about the threat.

Sighing, Drift made his way to the berth and sat on it, pointedly not crossing his arms or pouting. He was certainly not slouching…or sulking.

And of course, Ratchet was not pleased at the thought that he had bested the third in command. He was certainly not smug about it all and his field was not satisfied whatsoever. Of course not. Definitely not. Ridiculous.

Ratchet scanned his whole frame and plugged into his medical port for routine check-up to both the physical and coding components. He had an air of calm professionalism which Drift clung to. Somehow it made the whole ordeal much more bearable than he had in previous experiences. His field radiated tranquility and peace, something the swordsmech found hard to find. It hit him in soft waves, not too broadcasted where it was overwhelming, but enough to calm the spark. It was no wonder he was considered the best.

Once the scans were complete, Ratchet made him perform some routine stretches and movements to make sure everything was performing smoothly. Bend down, move his limbs this way and that, rev his engine, check his cooling systems, and so one and so forth. Throughout the entire thing, Drift felt calm and dare he say, at peace.

That is, until—

“Alright, I need you to open your intake so I can check denta.”

It was like popping a bubble. Drift stared at the medic, field reining in tight and spark spinning rapidly.

“Well?”

He couldn’t let him see. He’d frighten Ratchet, he was sure of it. Whatever respect and trust the medic had in him would wither away at the sight of him.

“I don’t have all day Drift, open up.”

He had no choice. Steeling himself, he parted his derma slightly and hesitated for a moment before pulling back his jaw. Fists clenched tightly at his sides.

He saw Ratchet move closer and heard him adjust his lenses. He waited for the shocked gasp and frightened recoil. He waited for the whiplash of his EM field. He waited…and waited.

But nothing happened.

He saw Ratchet move his optics this way and that, professional expression never shifting or morphing to something more disgusted. His field still radiated the cool serenity.

Eventually, he pulled back, but Drift remained tense.

“Alright, looks like everything’s completely normal. You’re free to go.”

He sat there. Not fully comprehending Ratchet's words and stared at the medic waiting for…something. But he did nothing except pull up Drift’s medical profile on a datapad and transfer the updated data onto his records.

Drift waited. But nothing happened.

Ratchet obviously notice the lack of response and the immediate spring to the doors and looked at him curiously. “You hear me?”

The swordsmech could only give him an owlish stare. “What?”

He rolled his optics. “I said you’re good to go.”

Drift continued to stare at him. He couldn’t process the fact that Ratchet was unfazed—that he was totally fine with peaking into Drift’s horrendous chasm he called a mouth and claim that he was ‘completely normal.’

There was no way.

“You mean, there’s nothing wrong? With me?”

That earned him a quizzical look. “I said everything was normal. Why would there be anything wrong with you?”

Drift was still in a daze, staring at Ratchet like he was Primus himself. “You weren’t afraid.”

Ratchet frowned. “Afraid of what?”

Ratchet didn’t get it? But how?

“Teeth.”

Now it was Ratchet’s turn to look at him funny. “You weren’t afraid of my teeth.” His voice sounded feeble and distant, but he was too shocked to care.

The medic didn’t answer right away. He looked at Drift, frown deepening and field questioning. They were silent for several moments, both staring intently at the other. Finally, the ambulance spoke.

“Drift, has someone been giving you trouble?”

Drift’s eyes widened and he blinked a few times. He didn’t know what to say to that. He was debating whether to even bother telling him about the past few weeks, but he didn’t want to burden the medic about his problems.

It didn’t matter anyway. He must have hesitated for too long because Ratchet sighed heavily, drawing him from his own thoughts.

“Kid.”

Drift watched as the medic ran a hand down his faceplates and placed the datapad on the berth. Ratchet turned to him, expression serious, but his optics were soft.

“No matter what anyone tells you—about your appearance or personality or anything about you, don’t listen to them. You’re perfectly normal.”

He placed a hand on Drift’s shoulder. The weight of it was comforting and the warmth from it seeped into his armor. The sight was familiar. A relived memory from the past.

“We all have our own little quirks and features. We’re all unique in our own way.” Ratchet gave him a soft smile. “You’re special kid. So, don’t let anyone else tell you otherwise.”

The medic pulled away, taking the hand on his shoulder with him but not before one last gentle squeeze.

Drift stared at him, awestruck and floored at the same time. The medic’s words kept replaying in his head over and over and he still couldn’t believe the experience he just witnessed. It was like getting a cleansing. He felt renewed, rewashed….

He wanted to keep this feeling forever.

He looked at the medic and for the first time in a long while, he smiled. An actual, true, smile.

####

Drift peeked his head through the doors, optics scanning for any signs of his target and almost immediately spotted him standing by a berth. He looked around and saw no one else in the room. Perfect.

Smirking, one that revealed several of his fangs, Drift silently stalked into the medbay. His footsteps were light, and his armor was clenched tightly to his protoform to quell any unwanted noises.

His target had his back turned to him, making the perfect opportunity for a surprise attack from behind. Drift’s smirk turned wicked as he was less than a foot away from his target. Hunching his shoulders and body tensing, he prepared to pounce.

“Don’t even think about it.”

Drift’s stance dropped like a 10-ton weight. He stared gapingly at Ratchet and felt the medic’s engine rumble in amusement.

“But…how?”

He watched as the ambulance turned to look at Drift. A slight smirk playing at his derma. “It’s my medbay. I know everything that goes on around here.”

Recovering quickly, the swordsmech raised an optic ridge, “Oh? Do you now?”

“Yup.” Ratchet’s field wasn’t quite smug, but it was a close thing.

Interesting.

Drift too had a growing smirk on his faceplates. “And do you know that a certain CMO’s shift has ended well over 3 cycles ago?”

Ratchet paused for only a second. ““I’m very aware of that but there’s plenty of work that still needs to be done before the CMO can even think of turning in for the night.”

“Is that so?”

“Y_aw_**p**.” The medic crossed his arms as he responded with a light ‘pop’ at the end.

The white speedster shook his helm before copying his stance. “Well, I’m afraid I’m gonna have to override that decision.”

Ratchet raised a brow ridge. “Excuse me?”

“Y_aw_**p**_._”

Downright grinning, Drift approached the medic. “When it’s time for a mech to end his shift, he’s gotta end it whether he likes it or not.”

Ratchet gave him a scalding glare, but Drift was not deterred for a second and leaned forward. “And it’d be a real shame if a certain SIC got a whiff of this violation to shift protocol. You know how he feels about not following protocol.”

Ratchet too leaned forward slightly, glare turning murderous. “You wouldn’t dare.”

Drift grinned wickedly, showing off every bit of his sharpened denta—fangs and all. “Try me.”

Both mechs stared each other down, faceplates just a few breaths apart. Neither willing to yield to the other. One faceplate glaring daggers, the other flashing teeth in a too-smug grin.

Their standoff lasted for several kliks until finally, Ratchet leaned back and huffed.

“Fine.”

At Drift’s triumphant look, he placed a hand on Drift’s face and pushed.

The swordsmech could only laugh at the light shove and backed off slightly, shaking his head. He looked back at the medic and was met with a growing smile of amusement and—dare he think it—fondness.

He watched as the medic turned back to his desk and—presumably—put away whatever he was working on. When he was finished, he started making his way to the exit until he paused and looked over his shoulder at Drift.

“Care to join me for a couple of drinks at Swerve’s?”

Drift could only smile whole-heartedly and unabashedly. Contentment filling his field.

“Gladly.”

**Author's Note:**

> So...yeah. There's that. I got a midterm coming up and I HAVE NOT STUDIED FOR IT. halp. Please let me know what you think!


End file.
